“No.” I cover her hand with mine. “If they want a family photo, you’re in it.” I turn to the aide. “Tell my father we will be there momentarily.”
As the aide walks away, Jess looks at me with a mixture of surprise and something deeper. “Are you sure? Your father won’t be pleased.”
“I’m not concerned with what pleases him.” I hold her gaze steadily. “I care what pleases me. And having my wife by my side pleases me very much.”
Her eyes widen slightly at the conviction in my voice. “Lucas…”
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand. “Let’s go crash a family portrait.”
She takes my hand, and as her fingers interlace with mine, the simple contact sends warmth spreading through me. “Lead the way.”
Hand in hand, we cross toward the staircase, where my family is gathering. My father’s expression tightens when he sees Jess with me, but my mother makes a point of shifting to make space for us right beside her.
As the photographer arranges us, I lean close to Jess. “Thank you for coming tonight. For being here as my wife.”
“I had to make a choice,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tonight, I chose us.”
The simple words send hope soaring through me. “I choose us, too,” I tell her. “Tonight, tomorrow, for as long as you’ll have me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but before she can respond, the photographer calls for our attention. “Everyone, smile please!”
Jess and I turn to face the camera, smiling not because we’re told to, but because, for the first time in weeks, there’s something real to smile about. As flashbulbs pop, I feel her fingers intertwine with mine, a silent promise for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, everything will change: my father’s reputation, the Carmichael name. But with Jess’s hand in mine and the promise of dinner tomorrow night, I find myself looking forward to it.
forty-one
. . .
Jess
“Allegations of SexualHarassment Against Gubernatorial Candidate Logan Carmichael.”
The headline stares back at me from my laptop screen, stark black letters against a white background. Simple. Factual. Life-altering.
Even though I arrived back in LA last night at a decent hour, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been awake since four in the morning, making final edits and signing off on the legal review before the story went live at six a.m. sharp. Now, three hours later, I’m watching as it ripples through the political and entertainment ecosystems like a stone dropped in still water.
My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing: colleagues congratulating me on the story, competing outlets requesting interviews, and political commentators seeking additional details. I’ve responded to none of them, letting my assistant field the inquiries with practiced efficiency.
This is what journalists dream of: publishing something that matters, that disrupts, that pulls truth into the light.
But the victory feels different from what I expected. There’s professional satisfaction, yes, but also a new sensation that I’m still trying to identify. For the first time in my career, I wish I had someone beside me to share this with, someone who understands both the weight of the truth and the toll it takes to bring it forward.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” Kira observes as she sets a fresh cup of coffee on my desk.
“Thank you for noticing,” I say dryly, reaching for the cup. “Hazard of breaking major political stories.”
“Worth it, though. The response has been huge.” She hands me a printout of headlines from various news sites, all picking up the story with appropriate attribution. “Even theTimesis crediting us with the exclusive.”
I scan the headlines, feeling a complex blend of emotions. The story is solid. It’s meticulously researched, thoroughly vetted, and powerful in its restrained presentation of facts. It’s exactly the kind of journalism I’ve built my career on.
“Senator Carmichael’s office released a statement,” Kira continues, pulling up the response on her tablet. “The usual denials, calling the allegations politically motivated, questioning the timing of the story.”
“Predictable,” I murmur, skimming the carefully crafted non-denial denials. Logan Carmichael’s communication team is good. They’ve created just enough ambiguity to give his supporters room to doubt, while avoiding specific refutations that could be disproven later.
My mind drifts to Lucas: last night at the campaign launch, the way he looked at me, the way he held my hand during the family photos, the unexpected warmth in his voicewhen he asked me to stay for dinner tonight. I wonder what he’s thinking now that the story is actually out. Is he still standing by what he said about understanding why I had to publish it?
“His campaign manager is requesting an interview to respond,” Kira adds. “Should I schedule it?”
